Author's notes:
Hi :) It makes me so happy to see that you're enjoying the story! Every comment brings a smile to my face. Thank you so much! ❤
If all goes well, I'll post the next chapter in four weeks (Sunday 11.04).
The illustration for this chapter you can either find on my DoodleAddicts account (…/vincentthecat) or on the story Rooftops of New York that I post on Archive Of Our Own (VincentTheCat).
Chapter 16 "In Great Distress"
"In Ramah is heard the sound of sobbing, bitter weeping!
Rachel mourns for her children,
she refuses to be consoled
for her children—they are no more!"
Jeremiah 31:15 (NABRE)
Elle smiles as she pauses on the threshold and looks out over their backyard. She leans against the doorframe.
There, in the garden full of blooming flowers, is her little girl. The laughing child dances around as faithful Satch follows her every step. Completely submerged in her game, she does not notice her mother's gentle gaze, watching her every step. Elle opens her mouth to call out to her, but stops. The breakfast is ready, but she has no heart to interrupt the child's play.
Finally, Claire spots her. She turns around. "Mummy, mummy! Look, look!" Her childish, chubby hand points at the yellow tulips in the back. "Today, they have just bloomed!" she explains delightfully. "Aren't they beautiful?"
Her daughter runs towards the flowers. "Come here, come here! You need to smell them, mummy!" she chirps.
With a soft chuckle, Elle descends down the steps. "Okay, but then we'll sit down to breakfast. Daddy will be down any minute."
"What's for breakfast?" Claire asks as she twirls in place.
"Pancakes," Elle answers, and her daughter immediately stops spinning.
"Oh, yes! I love you mummy!" she laughs, and then takes a running start to fall into Elle's arms. But just a second before they can hug, Claire stumbles.
"Claire!" Elle cries, reaching out to keep her child from falling.
/\_/\
='x'=
"Claire!" Elle woke up with her daughter's name on her lips. Startled, she sat up and looked around the living room with her heart still beating loudly in her chest. A dream, she realized dazedly. It was just a dream.
She ran a hand over her face and sighed deeply. Then she stood up.
Slowly, she crossed the way to the back door. With unseeing eyes she gazed out into the garden. It seemed like ages since she had had that dream.
She heard a soft whine, and when she looked down she saw Satch. The dog worriedly nudged her leg. She squatted down next to him and put her hand on top of his head. "Hi, bud," she said. "I hope I didn't wake you."
The dog licked her hand affectionately and Elle looked back into the foggy garden.
She thought of the echogram she kept in the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It was the only picture of their daughter they had. After they had lost her, Elle remembered spending long hours just gazing at it.
Satch whined again, demanding attention. Elle scratched him behind the ear and then, with a quiet sigh, got up.
"I guess you're hungry, aren't you boy?" she warmly asked the dog. Satch yawned in agreement and then followed her into the kitchen. His claws tapped happily against the floor like little raindrops on the pavement. "Okay, let's see then―" Her eyes lingered on the clock above the counter.
It was 8 AM. Peter.
She quickly retraced her steps to the living room. Peter should be home by now, she thought worriedly. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table, staring for a moment at the beautiful drawing of Central Park. She shook herself and unlocked the screen.
There were no new messages from her husband. Elle quickly went to the front door to check the shoes. Peter's slippers were where he had left them the previous morning. The shoes he wore to work were not back yet. With a frown but still trying to keep her anxiety in check, Peter could be very forgetful at times, she pressed call.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neumann was on the run, Keller was on the run, Neal was nowhere to be found… Out of five criminals, Peter managed to arrest only two, the less important ones. That was a definition of a disaster.
With a heavy sigh, he ran his hand over his face. He returned to the Bureau about one hour ago and now was going through the pictures taken in the mansion after the heist.
There were two findings in the mansion that got his attention.
There was an office with a loosened grate, break-in tools tossed under the table, and an emptied safe inside.
Then there was a room with obvious signs of some scuffle. The gun found in there was the same model Keller used. However, the most worrisome thing for Peter were the droplets of blood that sank into the carpet. Whose blood was it? Since the room was in the direction Keller disappeared, it seemed logical to assume that the man must have been involved in the scuffle somehow. Just as? And what about Neal?
Peter would hardly have thought that the blood belonged to the child, yet it was a possibility that constantly dictated his thoughts, tormenting him from the inside.
An email came. The laboratory had just finished testing the samples. Peter's lips tightened into a thin line. It turned out they had enough material to perform a DNA test. After downloading the file, Peter scowled, seeing the results.
He never liked how much guess-work his job required of him. In instances like that one, he just hated it. But they were on the clock and from his experience in such situations it was better to guess and give his team some kind of direction, even if later on it turned out to be wrong.
Peter looked up from his computer and saw Diana standing in the doorway, silently watching him. Just the person he wanted to call. He gestured for her to come in and she took a seat.
"The DNA matches the one the FBI found after the heist in Los Angeles three years ago," he said. "Keller was never suspected of being involved there. Still. Let's assume for a moment the blood was his. What would that mean?"
Diana crossed her arms. "That someone got to him before we did."
He nodded. "Who?"
"Neumann." She frowned. "Of course, how he managed to lose his tail and then creep near our trap at the mansion without falling into it is another matter completely. But someone managed to escape in that black van, and it must have been either Keller or Neumann." She locked eyes with him. "Your theory is that it was both of them. Neumann willingly, Keller not so much."
"Yes." Peter flicked back to the picture of the empty safe they had found at the mansion. "This robbery happened at the same time as ours, and we know that the thief used the ventilation system to get into the office. I think I was not the only one who had a hidden motive for entering the mansion. Neal knew from the beginning he would run away on his own, and when I remember my conversations with Neumann…" Peter paused, then nodded. "Yes. Neumann suspected that Keller was trying to pull one on him. That's why he brought me into the picture after all. Probably somewhere between our meeting two days ago and yesterday's heist Neumann must have realized exactly what Keller was after and decided to act accordingly."
Diana's look was sceptical. "I'm not sure, boss," she said after a long moment. "If Neumann did realize that Keller wanted to rob him of more than agreed, wouldn't he have intercepted Keller prior to the heist? I mean," she pointed with her chin at the photo of an empty safe. "Why leave it to chance?"
"We know now that the team lost sight of him about six hours before the heist. Maybe there was not enough time. Maybe he wanted to be sure."
"Maybe we spooked him," Diana suggested.
"Maybe," Peter agreed. "On the other hand, considering that he was on the lookout for Keller's betrayal, he might just have been more cautious than our team assumed," Peter said and snorted. "It would be nice if he hadn't realized my role in the ambush. But we can't really count on that. He doesn't answer my calls."
They both fell silent. Peter returned to staring at the computer screen. He rubbed his forehead. The throbbing headache he caught sometime after the heist did not want to leave him, no matter how many painkillers he took. He clenched his fists.
The truth was, he could not care any less if he found Keller and Neumann. It was only the child he cared about. He should never have let the boy participate in the heist. He should have arrested Neal the moment he saw him in his house, or better yet, after that first meeting during which the boy had nearly been stabbed to death by Travis.
But no. Instead, Peter decided to roll the dice. And if the child got hurt during his and Keller's little cat and mouse game then it would be too damn bad, wouldn't it?
It was a disgusting decision by a selfish man who thought he always knew best and felt no need to question his actions. After all, his closure-rate said a lot about how great an agent he was.
Yes. He was great. So great that in a day or two he was going to discover Neal's and Keller's bodies dumped somewhere. He would look at the lifeless body of the child and would know perfectly well that it was actually him, not Neumann who had killed him.
Abruptly Peter stood up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Diana doing the same.
"Tell Smith and Leroy to act upon this theory. The rest of the team is to carry on with their assignments as before. I want Neal, Keller and Neumann found."
"You got it," she nodded.
He put on his jacket. "Good. I should be back within two hours. I'm heading out to question our witness."
Diana looked at him in surprise. "Witness?"
"Elle," Peter said expressionlessly. "She spent almost half the day talking to Neal. Maybe he told her something we don't know."
Peter did not wait for a response and left the office. His mind tormented him with terrific images of violence against children. Other thoughts followed. Memories of some of the most painful moments of his life.
Elle, in pains, is in the hospital. Blood sinking through her clothes. A doctor and nurses running into the room. Premature delivery. Doctors trying everything they can to bring life into Claire's little body.
…But babies around their twenty weeks of age rarely, if ever survive outside of the safety of their mother's womb.
Peter remembered he wanted to scream in defiance at the doctor who had announced his daughter's death, he wanted to put a gun to the doctor's head and tell him to continue CPR. Claire could not possibly be dead. He remembered looking at her in shock, in disbelief. His child's body lay motionlessly on the table, and Peter went mad. Claire could not be more than six inches long. She could easily fit onto his palm, she was so small. But her eyes were closed and her tiny, little chest…Motionless. Claire would not start breathing.
They did everything they could to save her. But she was not… Claire was dead.
The feeling of guilt that fell on him after Claire's death was overwhelming. Somehow part of him still believed that there must have been something he had done wrong, some kind of mistake he had made, that if they had brought Elle to the hospital sooner, if they had chosen to trust other doctors… But no. Claire was dead, and the last memory Peter would have of her would be a child who left her mother's safe womb too early, not yet ready for the unfriendly environment of the outside world.
But if Neal died, his death was going to be entirely on Peter. It would be due to his choice. His damn, selfish choice. Because unlike with Claire, he had the opportunity to save the child's life. But the opportunities passed.
Instead of Neal, he chose himself. His own plans, his damn case, his work…
Only when Peter opened the car door did he realize that on his way down he must have started crying. He rubbed his face angrily, almost savagely. A loathsome worm, that's what he was. The most disgusting worm on the planet.
The ringing of his phone made him flinch. Numbly, he stared down at the number. It was Elle. His loving wife whom he had vowed to serve and protect, and whose heart, instead, he was about to break.
/\_/\
='x'=
"Hi hon," Peter said, and Elle felt relieved. She breathed softly.
"You're okay," she said, with feeling.
"Yes, I―" Peter paused. "Oh. I did it again, didn't I? I forgot to call you."
"Don't worry about it," Elle quickly said. "Is everything okay? Are you coming home soon?"
"Yes. I'll be there in less than half an hour."
"Okay," she said.
"We can talk then, okay?" There was a strain in Peter's calm voice that Elle found hard to identify. He was probably just tired.
"Of course, hon," she said, then glanced at the drawing Neal had made yesterday. "What time are Neal and his uncle coming to visit today?"
For a moment Peter was silent. He probably needed to focus on the road. Elle waited patiently. Finally he spoke.
"Elle. Not everything about the ambush went according to plan," he said calmly, then continued in the same tone. "Keller got away. You probably haven't realized it yet, but there is a car in front of our house with two of my agents in it. Just in case."
Elle's eyes widened. She got up and reached for the curtains. Indeed, an unfamiliar car was parked just in front of the gate.
She could not make out the details of the faces of the men sitting inside, but she thought they turned their heads to look at her.
"Yeah, I see those poor, dutiful souls," she said. "I'll put coffee on right away," she glanced at the bowl of leftover cookies from yesterday.
Peter's response was almost immediate. "Don't pamper them!"
She was about to chuckle when she realized something. Peter did not answer her first question.
"Hon, I asked you about Neal and his uncle, not the bodyguards outside," she said, slightly alarmed.
Again there was that silence, and that time Elle thought it was eerie. Peter was hiding something from her. He probably thought he was protecting her that way.
"He's one of your agents, right?" she asked again.
"You're talking about Neal's uncle."
"Yes," Elle nodded. "Is he okay?"
"…He's missing, Elle. FBI can't find him."
"Missing!" Elle echoed in shock. "But I thought―" she paused, trying to focus. Peter was supposed to drive Neal off home. Neal's uncle was due back by midnight. But he was missing?
"I have to go to wherever you're safeguarding Neal," she said and stood up, heading for a drawer that contained a bag with all the essentials Peter had made her pack for that exact situation. "I'm ready to go right now. Can I take Satch with me? I think his presence could―"
"Elle―You can't. Neal's missing too. You're one of the last people who saw him. That's why I need to talk to you."
Shocked, Elle paused mid-step.
"No," she whispered. This little boy with whom she had spoken only few hours ago could not possibly be missing! "Peter, I don't understand!"
"I know, and I'm sorry Elle. But I promise to explain everything in half an hour, okay? I shouldn't be discussing the case on the phone."
Elle did not answer. She walked over to the coffee table and numbly picked up the drawing Neal had made for her the day before. Finally she recognized what the strain in Peter's stoic voice was. Fear.
And then, almost immediately, she remembered. She remembered waking up in the hospital six years ago and seeing pale Peter sitting next to her. She remembered how he took her hand into his and looked at her with eyes full of despair. And yet, when he spoke he sounded almost calm. He told her that the doctor thought Claire might not survive. That she might die before she was even born, die before she had a chance to look into her mum's eyes, feel a kiss on her forehead, clench her little fist around her dad's finger, hear them speaking to her without a belly barrier between them…
It was a silent, terrible death. It was the death of someone so precious, so innocent, so tiny… Elle took a shuddering breath.
Children, she thought dazedly. Children who have no way to fight for their lives. Children whose lives are always so terrifyingly fragile… So dependent on the decisions made by those around them. "Neal," Elle whispered, her voice trembling, and the dear boy's name sounded so painful to her ears.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal wakes up with that weird feeling in his gut that always accompanies him on his travels.
He sits upright and looks around the rooftop he has been sleeping on. He does not recognize this place at all. Where is he?
The sun is up. It is already late morning.
He glances down at the backpack lying next to him. It looks weirdly stuffed. What has he packed inside?
He opens it and it is only when he sees the bubble wrap that the events of the last night come to him.
The music box.
The heist.
The cops.
He gets up, suddenly realizing that it is very important to find out where exactly he is on the map of New York and whether…
And whether Mister Keller has contacted him.
He checks all his three burn phones. There are no new messages. From anyone. It's 8:10 AM. His mentor has not bothered contacting him for over seven hours.
Neal clenches his fists.
Is Mister Keller under arrest? Have the cops caught him? What if they have?
Taking a shuddering breath, Neal runs a hand through his hair.
Does it mean he is on his own?
He would rather not think about it.
He glances sideways at the stupid music box again.
Stupid. So stupid. Travis has made them all look stupid. The rats do this to you. They betray when you least expect it. Though Mister Keller should have suspected Travis's betrayal much earlier, Neal thinks. Yeah. Travis was probably snitching on them to the cops long before the heist.
Angrily, Neal starts climbing down the rooftop. He does not even bother taking the music box with him. Stupid mentor.
/\_/\
='x'=
Following she-who-smells-of-home into the kitchen, Satchmo keeps his ears pricked.
Something is wrong.
His two-leg smells of fear, he-who-smells-of-home and the-found-one have not returned from their hunt yet, and the-little-friend has hid somewhere after spending the whole night exploring the-Burke-den.
Despite Satchmo's best efforts, his pack was together for maybe just a moment, before dispersing in all directions again. And now she-who-smells-of-home smells of the same fear that the-found-one oftentimes smelled of whilst he was still missing.
Satchmo does not like it at all.
Whining, he tries to get she-who-smells-of-home's attention again.
Where is everyone? he demands from her.
"I-I can't take you for a walk, Satch." His two-leg opens the door.
HE-WHO-RUNS-FAST! barking, Satch runs into the garden and… Freezes mid-step.
He sniffs the air and pricks his ears. She-who-smells-of-home is right! The pup is here! Satch can smell him.
He-who-plays-best!
He-who-gives-best-hugs!
He-who-runs-fast!
Pup!
Barking many of the-found-one's names, Satchmo starts sniffing around the garden.
/\_/\
='x'=
Satchmo. Watching the dog run in circles around the garden, Neal blinks in surprise. What is Satchmo doing here?
Has the dog somehow followed him here? And where, exactly is here, why…
He suddenly realizes he knows exactly where he is.
"Oh, man," Neal mumbles, and at that moment the dog glances up. His caramel eyes lock with Neal's.
/\_/\
='x'=
The-found-one! The found-one! The-found-one! The-found-one!
Barking, he runs to greet the pup who has just jumped down to the grass. Satchmo jumps on him, and the-found-one wraps his arms around his neck.
"Stop making such a racket Satch! The cops are after me!" the pup whines, clearly he missed Satch too.
After licking the pup's face reassuringly, Satch huffs happily. The-found-one is found again. Everything will be fine.
/\_/\
='x'=
Elle's movements were mechanical as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She closed her tired eyes. Satch was still barking and she had to calm him down.
Slowly, she walked to the back door and opened it.
"Satch―" The cup of coffee dropped from her hands and shattered against the floor. Elle ran outside.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal is still trying to calm down the noisy dog, when suddenly his attention is caught by the movement to his right and… And that is all the time he has before some strange woman envelops him in a tight hug. He freezes. Who―
"Neal! You're okay!" Neal relaxes. Elle.
"Neal. Sweetie." Still holding his shoulders, Elle steps slightly away from him. Their eyes meet. "Are you hurt?"
"N-no," he stutters.
"Okay," Elle nods. "Come on, it's not safe outside."
She drags him onto his feet and then up the stairs, into her house. Once they are inside, she guides him to the sofa.
"Sweetie, don't worry," she says. "Peter will be home any minute now. We talked. He will do whatever he can to save your uncle. Do you know where he is?"
Neal blinks.
Mister Morris has contacted Elle?
Mister Morris is going to save Mister Keller?
Elle takes his hand into hers. "You're okay," she whispers.
Next (11.04): Sand Castles